Her reaction was only vaguely what he expected; all he had seen of Zynex thus far had been frustration and rebellion in demeanor, and even from the beginning Jefferson had wondered how she would fare as a Phoenix Valley member in a pack of easygoing dreamers. Her personality differed from theirs rather blatantly, but Jefferson -- although he'd been bitter in the beginning -- had kept high hopes that one of them would reach out to her somehow or, better yet, she'd reach out to them instead. If nothing else, the cyclops had known she was ambitious, just not always choosing the best way to go about it.
The first response she gave him made it clear there was a level of distress present. At first his senses flared again, thinking something war-related had happened and she was there as a messenger, but he relaxed when an unexpected apology ensued. "Breathe, Scarlet," he advised calmly, his tall frame looking down on hers. He was no psychologist, but even Jefferson could see the poor girl had her inner demons. As she continued, the severity of the issue rose with every word and she posed a question very rarely -- if ever -- thrown at him. Jefferson was an analyst at heart; he could see the problems of the world and assume answers for them, but he was never one to speak aloud his thoughts. He had never seen himself as an advisor, but knew it fell into his role as a leader (although Geneva might have been more skilled with it).
As she quieted, the cyclops sighed and turned, motioning to her. "First, why don't we go inside the ranch. The fire's going, so it's warmer." As he led her in, he was sure to close the front door and only continued after doing such. "I don't see myself as much of a ruler as you do," he started, walking down the hallway that became progressively warmer as they went. "I know you're not fond of me, so I don't expect you to see much of anything else, but this is the type of thing I'm here for, so you don't have to be nervous about coming to me about it."
That said, the rocking chair and glorious burning hearth welcomed them into the small, main room of the ranch. It was comfortable with its miniature, attached kitchen; the cyclops moved to scoop up the book he'd dropped earlier and tossed it on the table as he pulled a chair for her to the fire. "I don't suppose you've gotten to know much of the pack, right?" As she collapsed in the somewhat squeaky rocking chair, his eye watched her earnestly; the typical gruffness of his demeanor was absent. "They're tight-knit, so they talk about each other a lot... and I haven't heard your name come up." He frowned. Though he was a loner at heart, he knew there was nothing worse than standing in an occupied place all alone.
